Slick's Squad - Mired (Punch)
by reulte
Summary: After Slick's treason, his squad is separated and assigned to different companies. Punch goes to the 224th on Mimban. This is a companion piece to the rest of the Slick's Squad stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Mimban**

Punch looked down towards the planet's surface from the side panels of the specialized transport LAAT. Above the clouds the sun had shone brightly; then the LAAT had descended through a thick cover of clouds getting darker and denser as they moved lower. Water condensed on the clear panes then became rivulets. At a thousand meters the panes were covered with sheets of water. Electric crackle in the sky billowed brightly around the modified LAAT which jerked and jumped, tossed by the inclement weather of Mimban. Even at five hundred meters there appeared to be no surface to the planet.

Some of the rookies were nervous; it was too much like the worst of Kamino weather. The electronic lightning storm was like one of the first outdoor drills they'd been taken on as cadets. It was a drill on one of the created islands of Kamino and was usually the last drill as a singleton cadet and the beginnings of a functional squad.

Punch closed his eyes, remembering. There was always the excitement of being out of the Kamino training facility and knowing this drill was meant to solidify the cadets into squads. There was always wind and rain and lightning; something so different from the flash-drills and training holovids. There was a smell to storm; sharp and brittle and curling inside your senses.

And, there were always at least four fatalities by the end of the exercise; cadets killed by hypothermia or lightning or the slickness of every surface. You learned far more viscerally. You learned - in a way that was keener, brighter, and far more memorable than flash-training - that weather couldn't be trusted. Only your brothers could be trusted.

Punch grunted deep in his chest. That was lie.

Punch leaned his back against the LAAT reinforcements. It was only weather, only some natural phenomena that had no intentions against any trooper. If the transport crashed and they all died, at least there was no anger or hate in the weather. No cruelty. No treason. Death would be strictly impersonal and for a bare moment, that was what Punch wanted.

His fingers reached to the pouch where he'd stashed the picture Sketch had drawn. They'd been in the mess, arguing about the drawing, when the entire squad had been called back to the barracks. Punch had crumpled the drawing in his fist, shoving it with the extra blaster cartridges on his belt. Then Slick's treason and capture. Immediately afterwards, the squad had been separated and housed in different barracks.

They weren't technically under arrest, but why should he be the first to make a move? He'd wait for Sketch to come to him and apologize for drawing him in that grotesque, submissive sexual pose.

Punch had his interview with the review board and was on a transport that night. First to Kamino then to Captain Top and the 224th on Mimban. He had lost most of his anger in the questioning of the review board but not enough to beg to see Sketch. He hadn't shown them the picture and they'd known he was hiding something though they realized it had nothing to do overtly with Slick's treason.

Commander Cody had approach him during one of the breaks. "We know what he did to Gus. If he's done anything like that to you, please let us know."

Punch had bristled, all anger at the commander for the insinuation. "The medics have cleared me. I'm as pure as the day I was vatted." Though he didn't feel clean anymore. He felt mired, covered in something acidic eating away at him and leaving only a thick, filthy residue.

In his anger at Sketch, at Slick, at the world, Punch tore at the commander. "_You_ should have caught what he was doing. _You_ should have noticed."

Commander Cody jerked back as if he'd been struck, his face pale.

Punch turned on his heel and strode back into the interview room, sitting military correct in the chair, wanting only to get the questions over and find Sketch.

Punch finished his interview and was ordered to gather his gear and report for immediate departure. He took long moments to search for Sketch, not caring that it was in direct violation of his orders.

Sketch was gone. Sergeant Wooley had told him that when he'd come searching for Punch and handed him his packed gearbag. Punch could only stare at it as Wooley led him to the transport.

Gone? Sketch? Gone?

He didn't even know where Sketch had been assigned.

"Welcome to your new home, rookies," said the pilot with a chuckle that interrupted Punch's reverie. "You'll all be Mimban mud-jumpers before long."

Punch bristled at the words. He was no rookie. He hadn't been shiny for a while; his dented armor and a blaster scar on his shoulder blade proved that. He said nothing though; the pilot didn't know that he was a reassignment transfer. It wasn't the usual way of things, it wasn't normal. The others in the LAAT, seeing his armor blaster-scorched and battle-scratched, seeing the way he stood and the way he moved to take the back bench, knew he wasn't a shiny and, not knowing how to approach him, avoided him.

As if they knew he'd been part of the traitor's squad.


	2. Mimban

Looking down from the LAAT, Punch saw the captain waiting on the landing pad. Punch knew he was just there to greet the pilot. Slick had always said that upper ranks and specialties received preferential treatment. It was why he hadn't liked his squad to associate with the regular 'grunts' in the mess.

Punch still didn't understand why Sergeant Slick had thought them somehow better than their identically-cloned brothers. Sometimes he and Sketch had discussed it but they'd never been able to pinpoint any particular reason.

_Because he's a traitor_, whispered Punch's mind.

Punch wondered now if, perhaps they should have discussed it among the squad even if the rest of the squad hadn't wanted to discuss anything with the two brothers.

Punch jerked. No, that was what Slick had said and implied and manipulated them into thinking but now he couldn't trust anything the sergeant had done.

_They don't want to disturb two brothers,_ Slick had commented once then, later, when they had such different shifts. _You've made it clear you don't want to be interrupted. _ They had, but only because they had precious few minutes together and that because Slick kept them in opposite shifts.

What if Chopper had wanted to sit with him and Punch rather than isolate himself in the back at the lone table? Frequently, he'd seen Chopper walk by their table and glance at them. There had often been mild envy in his eyes but had there been hope also? He'd been the only survivor of two squads back to back; what if he had just wanted company? Was Chopper truly a bad trooper because of his scars, a bad trooper because Slick said only slow troopers had scars? He hoped not and knew now that Slick couldn't be trusted.

What if Jester had the same questions they had? Or better questions? Back on Kamino his questions had often led them into discussions that were useful in training. They had high scores as a squad because Jester often questioned what had happened in previous training and how it could apply to future training. So often, they'd go into a scenario they had already discussed because of Jester's questions yet Slick only had to glance in Jester's direction to halt the flow of words.

What if Gus hadn't really wanted to be the sergeant's lover? Gus had never shown that kind of inclination before Christophsis. Was it all manipulation? When had it started?

Punch growled. "Di-kut," he accused himself under his breath. "Effing, fekking, di-kut grunt. I could have stopped it." He and Sketch could have stopped it; they could have invited Chopper to their table with them. They could have listened to Jester's questions. Sketch or Jester could have talked to Gus, explaining their small font of sexual knowledge to him.

"Ah, fek," Punch whispered to himself. Gus had been coerced in some way by Slick. That was the entire purpose of that bite mark on his shoulder - visible proof of Slick's ownership. "Gus, I'm sorry," he said, as if Gus was standing in front of him rather than parsecs away. "We should have protected you. We should have protected each other. We were a squad. One of the best."

Again Punch looked out the transparent wall of the LAAT but saw only his failure in the reflection of surrounding figures in armor.

Slick had stripped away their foundations and it had begun with Zev's death, with their introduction to their new squad sergeant and his harsh words of 'getting the incompetent ones out of the way'. Not one of them had made any disagreement with that statement. That's when it had started; when Slick told them that Zev was useless and they had believed him; when they had tacitly agreed because no one had said anything different.

There was a change in the LAAT's engines as it went from forward momentum to landing preparation. Gus stood and moved toward the door with a final glance around. In deference to his experience, the others were letting him disembark first.

They were all shinies, all rookies but him. They were his brothers and he'd do his best to protect them.

And not just from the tinnies.

* * *

><p>Captain Top faced the disembarking troopers and removed his helmet, revealing basic clone features to their view and the light drizzle. There wasn't a scar or tat anywhere on his face, or any hair either.<p>

One of the rookies chuckled, changing it to a cough. The captain only smiled. "You'll all be the same in a month or so," he said clearly as he reached the end of the line of transfers. He nodded at the one trooper in scarred armor.

He'd done well in leading the troopers away from the LAAT, gathering their gear, and keeping them in a loose formation as they gathered their gear. As the most experienced trooper, he had taken command of the rookies until a more experienced officer - him - took over. The rookies followed his lead; grabbing their gear, falling in order, then removing their helmets in the light drizzle and standing at the ready.

It fit with his record; excellent marks at Kamino then a lot of blank nothing followed by the single sentence 'commendable actions in a K-classified situation'.

That K-classified was interesting; classified by Kamino - not the Jedi or the GAR but by Kamino.

"I'm Captain Top. Welcome to the ranks of the 224th and the dismally wet and eternally muddy Mimban. My seconds are Lieutenant Cover and Sergeant Heft who you will meet in the mess. Mess is on the blue line," he gestured towards an opening reaching below the LAAT pad. "Barracks and common rooms on the yellow. Red is towards the Command Center. You'll be introduced to your sergeants in the mess." He relaxed into a parade rest and most of the troopers in front of him followed his actions. Not the experienced one, though and Top wondered about that. He had a look of mixed anger and despair on his face and Top wondered if he'd lost his squad.

"I know that some of you are not in squads, you'll go to Table One. All formed squads send one representative to Table Two. You'll have about three days to settle in, get your courtesy calls done with General Nyrm then me, and get briefed on the local situation."

The rookies moved towards the mess but the trooper with battle-marked armor paused then stood before the captain in attention. The captain raised the portion of his forehead that would have had an eyebrow if they weren't gone and saluted back. "Yes, trooper?"

"I'm a transfer, sir. From the 212th with specialty in electronics." He followed with his designation then his name - Punch.

Captain Top merely nodded with a speculative gaze. "Is it 'Punch' because you fight?" There weren't too many one-on-one fights in his company. Mimban itself took care of that.

"No, sir. Punch for punchline." For a moment he looked wistful with a sad smile. "For stories and jokes." Then he shook his head. "I assume you'll put me into a specialty squad?"

Captain Top gave a quick shake of his head.

"You assume incorrectly. You'll go to a line squad."

"Yes, sir." Punch nodded, his face grimly set as if being in a line squad was punishment.

Captain Top noticed his expression and offered an explanation. "Everyone - transfer or rookie - goes into a line squad. We let Mimban take care of the electronics," Top raised his face towards the sky then moved toward the opening speaking lightly with experience. "Come on; it's going to start raining."

Punch held his hand out to the drizzle. "What's this then?"

"Moist air," came the reply with a chuckle.

Behind them, the LAAT lifted off into the sky.


	3. Making a Squad

Punch checked in at Table One where a group of rookies had lined up. They tried to defer to him again and made room for him at the head of their small line but he simply shook his head and stood at his place in line. No matter what Sergeant Slick had told them, he wasn't special. There was no difference between him and his brother troopers except experience. He wasn't going to fall into Slick's trap again.

He was assigned to Sergeant Tuur with two of the other troopers and he stepped to one side giving those troopers behind him room. Introducing himself to the other two by name, he asked a few general questions about their training to start a conversation. Both were fresh from Kamino, Thirty-one and Coil, and both seemed pleased that he would be in their squad. They were hesitantly asking him about battle and the best way to set up one's gear.

Punch knew they wouldn't be pleased if they'd known the circumstances of his transfer - tainted by treason.

"Why is he called 'night'?" The rookie behind him asked the trooper who was checking their chips and taking a copy for the command group, wanting to understand the sergeant's Mandalorian name.

The other trooper laughed as he gestured the rookie towards Punch and the other two clones. "You'll find out quick enough, shiny."

As they moved towards their barracks, Punch heard other names, some associated with ranks, and mentally filed them away. They'd get a briefing later on who was who in the company but he wanted to be ahead of the game. He ran their names in his mind: General Nyrm, Captain Top, Lieutenant Cover, Medics Tal and Bone, Scout Tap, and Sergeants Tuur, Heft, Blast and Flame.

By the tone of the captain's voice and his laughter at some joke where he sat in the mess, Cover and Heft were part of his original squad. A brother had that kind of trust only with his original squad.

Not even always with his original squad, Punch snorted, thinking of Jester, Gus and even the late addition of Chopper. Of Punch's original squad, he had only shared that kind of trust and camaraderie with Sketch. For a moment, Punch paused, watching Cover's grin as he put his arm around the captain's shoulders.

What if he had accepted Chopper with a friendly gesture like that? Showing that his scars didn't matter? What if he had laughed at one of Jester's antics or discussed philosophy with Gus? Would Slick have been able to use them then? Punch shook his head; no, Slick wouldn't have been able to do what he did to a squad of brothers. He'd been able to do so only because they weren't a squad but a group of strangers who had simply lived and trained together for years.

With a start, Punch realized that was his fault; his and Sketch's. They'd been partners out of the creche and had ignored attempts and overtures for friendship by the others. After all, they'd had each other: Punch and Sketch, Sketch and Punch. It meant the same thing.

For all that he didn't want to share Sketch's bunk, he'd been angry at Jester for offering what he denied Sketch. For all that it was a good idea, he and Sketch never partnered with any of the others in the squad unless ordered by their trainers.

Punch gazed at Captain Top, off-duty and laughing among the troopers of his Kamino squad then he glanced at the three rookies at his side who'd be in the same squad as him. Punch nodded with a smile. He'd work to make them a good squad, he'd use his experience to make them united. He'd make sure they couldn't be split and used against each other. As he and Sketch had been torn apart.

At least, he and Sketch both knew each other was alive. Perhaps, one day, they could be reunited.

* * *

><p>"You have great potential," said the thin man in Jedi robes tapping the air in Punch's direction with a bony finger. "So much potential." Then he tilted his head as if listening to an invisible person in the office. "Oh, yes. I suspect so," he replied to an unasked question and chuckled.<p>

General Nyrm was short for a human, barely coming to Punch's shoulder, and thin, almost spindly. He didn't appear to be still, even when he sat down, his hands moved in quick, staccato gestures and his toe tapped the ground in some quiet rhythm. He had a beard, white, and tightly braided to one side with a few beads. It was the only hair that Punch had seen on anyone from Mimban. All the troopers of the 224th that he had seen so far, from the captain down, had removed their hair.

General Nyrm noticed his observations and grinned as he tugged at his beard. "She doesn't like the taste of me."

"Who is she?" asked Punch.

"Mimban, of course," replied the general with his eyebrows raised in surprise, as if it was obvious. He shook his head sadly. "She isn't a happy planet. No planet with war is happy." His eyebrows drew down thoughtfully. "Except maybe Mustafar. Now, there's an angry planet for you, very unhappy." He sighed in regret as he leaned back in the chair, lifted his feet and crossed them under him. "It's a young planet, though. It just needs time to learn."

Punch decided General Nyrm was a lot further from reality than most Jedi.


End file.
